


Which Way You Going, Billy?

by Viridian5



Category: Hard Core Logo
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-26
Updated: 2000-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy and Joe in a booth at the diner.  Past, present... and future?  Will be if Joe has his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Which Way You Going, Billy?

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Te for beta and giving me help on harshing the original version's mellow.

Billy's curled up in the seat across from me in that way he has sometimes that makes him look about five fucking years old, even with the cigarette between his fingers and lips. The "tell me a story, Poppa Joe" look that gets me every time. Makes me want to sit him on my lap and fuck with him. Yeah, kid, Poppa Joe will slip you some candy, the kind you're begging for. Not many 34-year-olds can make me feel like a pedophile for looking at them, but Billy can when he's working his mojo.

During his years whoring for Festus, I forgot what he could do to me. I missed him, hated him, wanted him back, but I didn't understand how sharp it could be until I had him back, until he showed up like I wanted him to and agreed to tour. Hate that.

Only he can fuck me up like this. If anyone else tried, I'd fucking kill them. Sometimes I want to kill him too, but the thought that follows that one involves storing his body to keep it with me somehow, and that's too fucking sick even for me.

I start spinning my stories about the other folks in the diner, and he smiles almost shyly, gradually sitting up and leaning closer across the table to me. Warm and fucking fuzzy Billy, intent and adoring. I can't help grinning on the inside and thinking, "Who's your daddy, Billy?" Just like a thousand times before. And, if I do this right, thousands of times to come.

While I'm telling my stories, he's here again, back from the dark, far side of Billyland he'd been all night. Hours of watching him tear around with his head on backward being a bitch until he drank himself into calm. That kick in the ass I gave him onstage barely made a dent, but he was _there_ when I needed him to be. Watching him shove that asshole back into the crowd gave me my own warm fuzzy and a raging hard-on. The heat of him standing close and the feel of his hair rubbing the back of my neck as I sang....

While I have him _here_, I let him know the deal. Jennifur is his side project, he can record and tour, all out of my own generosity, but we're his main deal. He's ours. Mine. Mine.

He doesn't say anything for or against it, but it doesn't mean agreement. He's still not all the way back from inside his head, and inside his head doesn't seem to be very pretty tonight. I want to shake him to make sure he's with me. Focused on the here and now. On me. No surprise, because I always want to grab him, rough him up. I try not to start because it's hard to stop.

His question about Mary hits me off-guard, but that's another talent of his. Billy gives out mixed signals, always has, maybe always will. Fucking tease. For all his "you don't own me" shit, he never stopped wearing the ring, the one that marks him as mine. I saw it in pictures taken of him with other bands. Always there. Like he's fucking daring me to claim him so he can piss about it to the cameras. We have our games.

He wants me, wants this. He just has to fucking admit it to himself. The bullshit's just foreplay.

If I could put a leash on him and keep him sitting at my feet, I would. Life isn't like that, though, so I just have to find a way to package my pitch for staying with me to make it appeal to the rock whore he's become.

Shit, I don't even care if he's a whore as long as he's my whore.

Bastard always did make me compromise for him.

 

### End


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